Danse Royale
by Dream Wreaver
Summary: Little girls grow up, but detectives rarely change. A case brings them back together, though not how you might expect it. Rated T just in case


So I've had the Great Mouse Detective on my mind for a while and then there came this. In three days. I need to sort out my priorities I know. But in the meantime enjoy this on my behalf!

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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 **London: June, 1910**

If you had asked her where all this had started, she would have said because of the train. She and her father had been running late to catch theirs when he had bumped into someone on the street. A lovely young mouse who had apologized for the trouble. Apparently unused to conversing with women for any business except, well, business, her father had stumbled over his words. She appeared to be amused by these antics, trying to hide her smile behind a hand. She had reminded her father that they had a train to catch. And for the first time in her life she had seen her father look somewhat disappointed as to going somewhere with her. He had expressed his desire to talk with her more. The lady had blinked a few times, fluttered was what she now realized it was, and then smiled. Rummaging around in her pelisse she found a scrap of paper big enough to write on, and something to write on it with. Quickly she did, and handed it to them claiming she didn't want them to be late for their train.

He thanked her and they were off. By some small miracle the train had been a bit behind schedule, something about a tree in the tracks that had to be removed. They had been just in time to board. Her father pulled out the scrap an she saw in an elegant, if not slightly messy, scrawl the name Miss Kitty and her address.

When they had settled in Scotland the first thing her father had done thereafter was write to her. Letters exchanged themselves back and forth between the two until he one day announced Miss Kitty was coming for a visit and would she mind oh so terribly if they had her stay with them? Still only a child, but recognizing how excited her father was, she agreed. That visit changed everything.

Kitty had been a city girl her whole life, doing what she had to in order to make a living. But feasting her eyes on the greenery of the rolling hills and the beauty of the fathomless lochs had her mesmerized. She decided she wanted to stay. A few letters off to London and a trip to pack up her meagre belongings and then she was there, a so-called temporary fixture in their house. All too soon though, her father grew closer to the woman, and then he had asked her if it was alright that Kitty become her new mother.

She had resisted at first, until he sat her down and explained that in no way did it mean he loved her mother any less. A part of him would always belong with the lady she'd never known herself and he told her as much. However, he had found something with Miss Kitty. Not only that he recognized that _she_ needed a mother, especially for the changes bound to happen in the coming years. That talk had been akin to removing the blindfold of childishness over her eyes, at least in matters of love. That night at dinner she had noticed things she had never before noticed, too preoccupied with her own little world of infantile oblivion. Subtle things; the way they looked at each other when the other didn't notice, the softness in their eyes, a sweet curl of the lips: barely there and evanescent, fleeting. The way he made her laugh even when he hadn't said or done something even remotely funny. It was love, that's what she saw. When her father tucked her into bed that night she said she wouldn't mind Miss Kitty staying.

They had gotten married shortly after. And she couldn't deny how much easier it made things. Miss Kitty was wonderful, even as a first time mother. She somehow knew something about raising a child, and the workload lightened on her father's part considerably: allowing his business to flourish. Sometimes she wondered what would possess such an independent lady to want to become a simple toymaker's wife and stepmother, among other things. But whatever it was, it made her happy. And most importantly, her father was happy.

Kitty taught her a lot of things, did a great deal for her that all those fairy tales had led her to believe she wouldn't. Stepmothers were supposed to be vain and mean and cruel. Kitty was none of those. She would nurse her when sick, read her stories, sing to her with her husky, lulling voice. She would laugh when the younger tried to be funny, even if she wasn't successful. When she had done something wrong, Kitty wouldn't yell, she would merely get that disappointed look in her eyes and tsk; shaking her head and tutting, "Oh Livvie,"

She would then get told, not lectured, not scolded, about how what she had done was wrong. A fairly lenient punishment later –as disappointing Kitty was guilt wracking enough- she would have learned her lesson. Speaking of lessons, as she had grown older, developed more, Kitty had taught her other things. A former entertainer she showed Olivia how she as a female had certain powers over men. A glance here, a dainty touch there, an inquisitive tilt of the head _just so_ and they would all melt. Especially with a soft look and a smile. Despite what most of society would have them believe, women _did_ have power, and they had a better way of using it Kitty would always say, they just had to be conscious of doing so.

The years passed. Kitty garnered more children with her father. She was suddenly an older sister. And yet the house grew crowded. She was old enough now, and thought to go out on her own. Her father had protested, but she had shot him down with logic, and Kitty had been willing to back her up. The last argument Hiram had formed had been to ask his daughter where she could go. Kitty had taken care of that.

"She'll go to London," she had informed her husband as though that had been the plan all along, "I have some old friends there that can give her some work and a place to stay until a better thing comes along."

His weak resolve crumbled at that and all Hiram had done was take her younger siblings to bed. Olivia couldn't believe it. London! Scotland was home but she had always missed London, the city of the most exciting moment in her life to this day. She was ecstatic. Kitty had turned to her then and said she would help her daughter prepare.

GMD

"Now don't you worry about a thing," Kitty had told her while they were all waiting for her train, "Maude and Louis will take good care of you."

She had already sent a letter ahead letting the proprietors of a pub by the waterfront known as the Rat Trap know that her stepdaughter was moving to the city and needed someplace to start. Since Kitty had been a good commodity of theirs years before they had been more than willing to board Olivia and give her a job.

"Thank you," she had told her stepmother, giving the older mouse a tight hug. Kitty patted the burnished curls her brown fur tuft had grown into and kissed her stepdaughter's forehead, wishing her luck. Her train pulled into the station. It was time.

Olivia boarded and waved goodbye to her family when the train's engine revved up and began to pull away. It gathered speed and soon land was speeding by in nothing but a green blur. Olivia was so excited she couldn't believe it. London, a new life, a new chance! And freedom, that had been the one thing in secret Kitty had told her of her old life. Despite its less than sterling reputation there was freedom to be found in it. Some of the only freedom other mice besides the queen had. She could hardly wait.

GMD

And that had brought her to where she was now. In her old dressing room at the Rat Trap, preparing for a show. Three years had passed since Olivia had left Scotland for the British capital, left her family behind, and begun working at the Rat Trap. Just as Kitty had promised, Maude and Louis had taken great care of her: allowing her to live in the room above the pub so she didn't have to go so far for work.

At first she had been nothing more than a barmaid, but when their main act had come down with a bad case of being a diva, claiming she was too good for a place like this and had left the stage without its star Olivia had found a new position. All those years with Kitty had left her with the right kind of voice, the work she did combined with her meagre diet kept her at the shape the patrons wanted to see. And she wasn't half-bad a dancer.

So she had taken over. Not as risqué as either of her predecessors Olivia preferred a dress with a short layer of skirts: the shortest beginning at her hips and the longest ending halfway down her thighs, with a part in the back for her tail to move freely. She still had to put on a show, but she wasn't quite confident enough to strut around in something as high cut as others. She still showed what she could, her legs and a good portion of her bare arms, before she covered them with gloves. The entire ensemble, along with the large bow in her hair, was a deep purple; not only because it complimented the copper top fur tuft, but also as a symbol that she was the queen of the stage, royalty here. While her voice was good enough –especially since it lacked her lilting Scottish accent and kept people from putting two and two together- it was her dancing that really drew in the crowd.

Kitty had reminded her constantly that it wasn't just the way she looked or the way she spoke that could enthrall a crowd, it was also important to remember the way she moved. Olivia sauntered about the stage to the music. It was just as easy as Kitty had said, a coy glance here, a turn of the back and a roll of the hips: it sent the skirts fluttering and gave the audience what they wanted. But, that wasn't all she could do, no. Her number always ended with her draped back over a chair, one heeled leg extended high into the air. A feat of acrobatics and it drove the patrons wild.

She made quite a profit, both from her bar wages and from presents left to her by her admirers. At first she had been uncomfortable, but Maude had told her it was something all good performers enjoyed. As far as they were concerned all money was good money, but if she had any qualms about some of the more pricey looking gifts, she could always check the papers and Scotland Yard, most wealthy folks paid a pretty pence to have family heirlooms returned.

Three years later Olivia had made more than enough to stop performing. But she had grown fond of the place, and the perks of performing. She could captivate an audience, she could throw off a drunkard with no problems whatsoever. And there was freedom in her act. With drunk men approaching the stage as she danced one might think otherwise, but it was true. Maude and Louis had only one rule: the shows, especially the female ones, were on a look but don't touch basis. They were a spectacle, not a toy and were to be treated like fireworks: pretty to look at, but not to hold.

And so, once a week, Olivia returned to the Rat Trap to perform. There came a rap at the door, Maude.

"Almost ready "Stella"?" she asked. Stella had been the stage name Olivia took for herself to protect her identity. Her over the top makeup done and her outfit secure she nodded yes.

"Alright then, get ready. The curtains will be going up any moment now. Break a leg honey," Maude said, bustling out and leaving her to it.

Olivia readied herself behind the curtains, waiting on the cues musical and curtain. When it opened she began, quickly taking in the faces of the crowd. At a center table she saw someone and nearly stopped in shock. His face, he looked so familiar. But no, it couldn't be. He was nothing more than a simple sea captain, in from port and looking for a good time: just like so many others. Basil of Baker Street would never be in a place like this. Not unless he was on a case. But no, he wouldn't be, not here, not unless the clues… No Olivia! This was not the time to be thinking such things. She had a job to do. Her voice had been on autopilot while her mind whirled, and she realized she needed to start doing what mice came to see. Her dancing skills.

She moved, lithe and graceful and oh so seductive. But fun. Kitty's number hinted at those sides in her, but this number was all Olivia from melody to lyrics, head to toe to tail. What said lyrics _were_ wasn't important, not as long as she put her heart into her performance. Prancing across the stage she heard the screech of a chair as it slid back sharply against the worn wooden floors. A turn to glance at the crowd revealed the sea captain standing stock straight, eyes wide and mouth dropped open in shock, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing, as though he'd never seen a woman dance before.

His reactions weren't helping her convince herself he wasn't Basil. Through the usual milling about of the patrons she heard a purposeful stride approach the stage. Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no! Olivia eyed who was coming and sure enough: the sea captain resembling Basil. Oh who was she kidding? There was no way it _wasn't_ Basil. He might have been able to disguise his appearance, but his walk and his bearing were harder to conceal. He walked with purpose, and right now his purpose was getting up onstage to her. Damn it all! If he succeeded he'd blow both their covers, as it was obvious he was here on business. Even if he wasn't she doubted he wanted it known that the mouse famous for solving difficult cases, many of them criminal in nature, hung out in seedy pubs like this one. She was certain he wasn't acting logically at this point, but she supposed seeing a little girl you once helped become someone in the line of work as a "lady of the evening" would be enough of a shock to override it. It looked like it was up to her to keep the others from finding out.

He strode up the steps and much like Kitty had told he she had once done to a drunk she'd found dancing with her coworkers, grabbed him by the arm and swung him around. She used him to enhance the act, bumping him across the stage with her hip as she strutted about. The men laughed, just another drunk trying to get the pretty songbird's attention, and he'd end up like all the others who'd tried before him. The song was coming to its climax, which meant she'd be sliding into her signature move. What to do, what to do? She was certain she couldn't get him off the stage yet, he'd do something and ruin the whole illusion. The chair had been subtly brought forward. Olivia pushed Basil into the seat and pranced a short distance away, taking just the tiniest second to appreciate the way his eyes followed, his mouth still slightly distended. Her voice hit the highest note it could that worked with the melody. A pause, then she skipped, spun, and landed draped over his lap with her leg extended into the air, opposite arm raised as though in a swoon. The music ended and the room filled with clapping, wolf whistles and other raucous noises of adoration.

Olivia sat up, still on top of him, and with a winning smile waved out at her fans. Out the corner of her eye she saw Basil casting _that_ look at her.

"Not now," she told him through her gritted teeth, still smiling as though nothing was wrong. Without further ado, she stood, pulled him off the chair and onto his feet. And with a giggle she gracelessly pushed him off the stage. The distance wasn't enough to hurt too badly, at least not physically. She was certain his pride must have taken a beating by now as the audience laughed at his expense. Olivia saw him glare up at her and with a coquettish grin she wiggled her fingers.

"Sorry," she said without moving her lips. She blew a kiss goodbye and as contentedly as she could make it seem hurried offstage.

GMD

She had just donned a dressing robe when she heard the squabble occurring outside.

"I'm sorry sir, but nobody sees Stella, nobody."

"I can assure you madam I am already acquainted with her and simply wish to say hello," Ah yes, Basil wasn't even _trying_ to disguise his cultured and educated accent. One more strike against him in a place like this.

"And I told you ain't no one sees Stella 'less she's onstage. Now, either leave or Louie will make you."

"Why I-"

She needed to stop this before it got out of hand. Opening her door Olivia stood in the frame and said, "Maude, Louis, it's alright," the pub runners stared at her, shock evident. Olivia scrambled for an excuse, "The captain here's an old friend of mine," she offered. Turning to Basil she said, "Nice to see you again,"

"Likewise," he said with a charming smile, obvious to no one else but her as terse and strenuous.

"Please Cap," she moved out of the way, "We should catch up. Last I saw you were heading out for… where was it again?"

"Morocco," he added glibly, already figuring out what she was trying to do.

"Did you bring me back that silk scarf I asked for?"

"I had planned to bring it to you personally, at home. I don't have it on me I'm afraid."

She pouted in faux disappointment, "Well that's alright, I'm just glad you're safe. Please, come in, you can walk me home tonight," she turned to her former bosses, "If I need _anything_ ," she stressed the word because she knew they thought him a threat, "I'll let you know."

Maude nodded, "Right then Stella, we'll be mindin' the patrons then."

"Thank you," Olivia replied, and then with a deep breath to calm her nerves she turned to the beast that waited within.

Basil had been examining the baubles in her dressing room, from the mirror to the scattered costumes that lay about. Olivia sighed and took a seat before her mirror, intent on wiping the cosmetics off her face.

"Olivia," Basil said, tone stern but hushed, as though afraid someone might overhear her real name, "What are you _doing_ here?"

She looked at him through the mirror's reflection, "Do you mean what am I doing in London? Or what am I specifically doing _here_ , Basil?" she asked in reply.

"The first, no the second, no both!" he couldn't make up his mind, his thoughts were racing a kilo a minute.

"I came to London to live," Olivia told him, "That's what I've been doing. And as for why I'm here, I needed work, and a place to stay."

"If that was what you wanted to do you could have come to _me_!" he shouted, then for a moment he looked horrified, as though he hadn't meant to say it. But he kept on anyways, "Instead I find you in a seedy _pub_ of all places and-!"

"Oi!" she held up a paw and cut him off, turning in her chair to face him head on, "Maude and Louis have been like family to me and I won't have you insulting their livelihood. And secondly, how was I supposed to know I was so high up on the list of people a man I haven't spoken to in over ten years cared about!" she was in his face, but he wasn't about to be intimidated.

"After all I did to help you and then you turn into, into _this_!" he cried as a disappointed parent might, "You had such potential and instead you throw it away for this kind of life!"

"I didn't _throw_ anything away," Olivia corrected him, "And what was I supposed to do Basil? My father remarried and they began having children. The house wasn't big enough and my father was making the most money he ever had! I was old enough to be on my own, so I moved out. Besides, I wasn't working just then,"

"No?" he struck with his famed rapier wit, "Then what _were_ you doing?"

"Performing," she answered, "For fun. Sure, when I first came I needed a job, but I wasn't even a performer then. I filled in one night and the wages were so good I kept on. I saved up enough and moved out. Got myself my own little flat in a better part of town. No Baker Street or anything but it's safe enough. I come back once a week to perform because I grew to like the feeling of being on stage, of being to awe people the way you do when you crack a case that seems impossible to solve. That's what this is to me!" she sat back down, deflated by arguing with the man she had once considered her hero, "But what are you even doing here Basil? I didn't think it was a habit of yours to frequent pubs."

"I'm on the trail of a new case," he answered her, "Some mobster who calls himself the Mole King has been rumored to frequent this place. I've been trying to garner evidence to find his identity and arrest him."

"What's he done?" Olivia asked.

"Drug smuggling," Basil answered, "Far worse stuff than anything you've heard of. If he floods the market with it there would be an unforetold number of deaths. That's how lethal this stuff is."

"Wait, did you say the Mole King?" Olivia asked.

"Indeed," Basil affirmed, "Why?"

"it's just," Olivia fidgeted, unable to look at anything besides her hands, "For the past month, I've been getting notes signed MK..." she explained, "Among other things…"

"Other things?" Basil inquired, eyes gleaming with a slightly manic light.

"Trinkets really, necklaces and bracelets and such. Each of them with a letter, wait!" she exclaimed, "I think I saved one. Where did I put it?" she rummaged around in the drawers of her vanity until she came across a scrap of paper that had accompanied a gift. It read thusly:

 _My Dearest Stella,_

 _How sweetly you croon, though it sickens me your sweet song is lost on the ears of wastrels and drunkards. I am a wealthy man, a collector of sorts, everything you could ever want I am capable of giving. Of course, sweet songbird, I would ask something of you in return. Every missive has been met with a rebuttal, but winter is coming. My Thumbelina, I ask you to give me your hand and I would make you the happiest mouse in all Mousedom. Given time I'm certain you'll come to love me._

 _Fondest regards,_

 _MK_

It didn't sound like the traditional love letter, but he believed Olivia to be far from the traditional mouse. Give me your hand was likely a poetically phrased request for her to be his mistress, which Olivia refused to do. But it did shed a little more light as to his alias.

"There are allusions to the Hans Christian Andersen story," Basil remarked as he read over her shoulder, "Suggestive,"

"Of what?" Olivia asked.

"I'm not a psychologist so it's hard to say, but there is some fixation with a tiny girl," Basil noted that though he wasn't taller than most mice, Olivia, even in heels, was quite tiny. A Napoleon complex perhaps? "Do you have any of the trinkets he's sent you?"

"Not here," Olivia replied, "I took them home, I couldn't find anyone to return them to. It's not as though I wanted them," she added as she saw Basil's countenance darken. It was subtle, something only someone who's known him a long time should have noticed. But then, she was always good at picking up cues he sent out.

"We'll have to-" his response was cut off by a rapping at the door. It wasn't the gentle knocking Olivia associated with either Maude or Louise, nor the pounding they sometimes used when in earnest.

"Quick, hide," Olivia cried in a whisper, turning the detective and pushing him into her costume closet. She closed the door over, but left it open a crack, just in case something happened. Quickly Olivia composed herself, arranged her position in front of the vanity, and cleared her throat, "Come in," she called, using the London accent perfected through three years of careful study, another barrier so that she could go out without being harassed on the streets.

A mouse she had never seen before strode in all swagger and confidence. Though, she –and Basil from his hiding spot- could see that from the look in his eyes he was no more than a hired grunt. An ambassador. Though, many people who didn't think often spoke. Neither of them were expecting this mouse to be any different.

"Heya Stella," He greeted, leaning on the corner of her dressing table, and obviously intoxicated by the stench of liquor on his breath, "Member me?

Olivia leaned back and brushed a curl behind her ear as she put on a fake winning smile and fluttered her eyes, "I see so many faces every night," she replied, "Forgive me for not remembering all of them. Tell me, have you come to every one of my shows?"

"Not _all_ of 'em," he slurred, "But enough. You've a really pretty voice. Even prettier than the singin' one."

Olivia laughed, that fake, shuddering laugh that all women did when a man was making them uncomfortable but they were trying to brush it off, "I don't know about that," she enunciated carefully, if she wasn't she could slip and so could her accent.

"But I'm not here on my own," he continued, and Olivia could only barely hold back the sarcastic, "I hadn't noticed" on the tip of her tongue. "I'm here on a message from my boss. He sends a gift, a nice red, and asks that we have a toast,"

"A toast?" Olivia tilted her head, "To what?"

"Your successes, present and future," said the mouse as he produced the bottle and a couple mugs he likely nicked from the bar. He poured them each a glass, "To you Miss Stella," he proposed, "Wait a tick, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"Over there!" he pointed. Olivia looked away, and that split second was enough for him to drop something into her glass. Of course, the only one who noticed was Basil from his hiding place. He had to warn Olivia, lest something bad should happen, but how?

Olivia had looked back and was about to pick up her mug, too polite to refuse, when Basil had it. He stomped his foot, firm enough to sound like something dropped. The mouse narrowed his eyes in the direction of the closet.

"Oh!" Olivia exclaimed, thinking on her feet, "Something must have fallen in my costume closet, I better pick it up," she got up and strode to the door. Basil shrouded himself in the costumes in case she opened the door a little too wide.

She approached the door, and cracked it further open.

"The wine," Basil hissed, "In your cup, it's been drugged!"

Olivia hummed lowly to let him know she heard. After making a show of straightening a few things she became aware of the looming presence behind her and without thinking she shut the door to protect the detective inside from discovery. This mouse _was_ persistent wasn't he? She felt his paws at the neck of her dressing gown. Quick as she could she slipped out of it and put her back to the wall, staring at him. He stalked her like the predator he wasn't supposed to be.

"Come now Miss Stella, be a sport won't you?"

A glance behind her showed the mugs in the positions they had been when last she'd seen them. An idea formed in her brain and Olivia continued the coy act.

"M afraid I'm more of an entertainer than a sports sort of girl," One step, two, soon, very soon.

"Innocence doesn't suit you," the mouse snarled, leering at her as he added, "Not with the way you act on stage."

"Well you should know that looks can be deceiving," Olivia said as her back pressed against the table edge, right where she wanted to be.

"Not for your kind, but you're all the same anyways aren't ya?" the mouse growled at her, "Throwin' yourself at the audience but up close and personal you try to act the lady. I see right through it and I want you to drop it with me."

Good lord was _this_ what Kitty had had to deal with before she'd met Father? Olivia leaned against the table, leaving enough space for her tail to get through.

"Now, now," she tried to soothe, "What about that drink your boss asked us to have? I'm feeling a little parched," she stepped to the side and gestured to the mugs on the tabletop.

The mouse stared hard at her and then at the drinks. An unnerving smile which Olivia was certain he though debonair stretched across his face, "Yes, perhaps a drink will allow us both to loosen up," he laughed as he reached for his mug, handing Olivia hers.

"A toast then," Olivia raised her glass.

"To favorable encounters in the near future," the mouse finished, downing the red in one take. Olivia took a hefty sip of her own, noticing how the mouse watched her with interest.

When she finished her sip she set it down with a satisfied, "Ah. I can't say I've had such a fine drink before."

There was a few moment of silence in which the mouse stared at Olivia. He grew increasingly more confused the longer the time passed without anything happening. A step forward had him stumbling. Olivia circled around him until he was in front of her and she was by the door. Slowly, sluggishly, he turned around.

"What the.." he slurred heavier than before. Then something registered and he grew angry, "Why you little!" he ambled toward the girl, who stood cornered with her hands behind her back.

There was a crash, followed by a heavy thunk against the floor. By her dressing room door Olivia Flaversham held the neck of a broken wine bottle in her hands. The rest had shattered against the goon's head and the contents, likely mixed with blood, were covering the floor. She picked her way about the mess and opened the closet, letting Basil out. He took in the situation and was rather surprised by her remarkable calm. Olivia stood there straightening her hair from the disarray it had flown into during the scuffle. Her outfit was even more scandalous now that he had time to analyze it up close. Basil shook his head, now was not the time for this.

Nimbly he found his way about the body, checking the clothes for any additional clues. The notes Olivia had been sent, along with the baubles was a good start, but he suspected a larger plan at work, one that Olivia had merely been a pawn in –a pawn with additional benefits he was certain she was thought as, but ultimately a pawn nonetheless. Aha! Another note, another clue. He could cross reference the make, see if there were any similarities that might hint at a common place of origin.

Excited by the high of making such a break in the case he scrambled back to Olivia, picked her up in his arms and spun them both around, laughing wildly.

"You've done it my girl!" he told her, a little too loudly perhaps, but he was excited and excitable, always had been, "I should keep you around, you could be quite useful in the future."

"You mean a partner? Of the Great Basil of Baker Street and Doctor Dawson?" Olivia looked down at him, happy humor in her eyes and that fake accent gone.

Basil remembered just what position they were in and what she was wearing. Ever the gentleman he set her down on her feet and pushed himself a short distance away, "Yes well," he cleared his throat, "We can discuss the details once this case is closed. In the meantime, we need to recover the objects from your flat and get you someplace safe."

"Safe?" Olivia echoed, "Why am I in danger?"

"Besides the obvious hazards of your little job-turned-hobby, you've just involved yourself in a major case. You were a target before, he placed a soporific in the wine. You saw how it affected him, even drunk he was still able to move and speak. Imagine what it could have done to a slight little thing like you. No, no, you need to come with me. Quickly as possible. Er," he remembered she was still in costume, "As soon as you are in something they won't recognize you in that is."

Olivia looked down at herself and said, "Oh!" a blush lighting up her cheeks, "Right then, I'll be in my street clothes again in just a moment. But first," she went out the door and called for Maude. When the bar matron appeared she looked shocked, but only a bit. Well, she ran a sleazy pub, odds were she'd seen this type of thing before and would many times before she died.

"Another one who just don't know his limit," she tsked, "Don't you worry Li-" Maude cut herself off, not sure if this captain friend of her performer's knew her true identity or not, "I mean, _Stell._ We'll have him out of here in no time."

"It's alright Maude," Olivia replied, not hiding her accent any longer, "I meant it when I said this Cap's an old friend of mine. 'S part of why he looked so shocked earlier. He knows, everything."

"Everything?" Maude raised a brow in his direction.

"Everything," Olivia affirmed.

Maude looked at her, then she sighed, "Alight Livvie, I trust you. And if you trust 'im then I will too. Will you be stayin' the night like usual?"

"No Maude not this time," Olivia replied, "My friend will be taking me home tonight. He's had nothing to drink, and for a captain he's a perfect gentleman. Knows how to treat a lady, know what I mean?" there was significance in her tone, unfounded or not.

Maude's eyes widened a moment, flitting back and forth between Olivia and the man, but eventually she nodded, "Good on you then," she told the girl, "Then I'll leave you to it, if anyone asks he got a little rowdy with Louis over the tab, right?"

"Right," Olivia nodded, "And Maude, be careful, I think there's something big at work here."

"There always is in this part of London," Maude brushed it off easily, "Comes with the territory. Now, don't you worry about me and Louie, we'll be fine. But I'm suspectin' you won't be back for a while."

"I don't think ever," Olivia responded truthfully, "At least, not as a performer. I'll still try to visit when I can."

Maude nodded, "Take care of yourself dearie,"

"You too," she said as the matron left. Then came Basil, "If you wouldn't mind," she indicated the door.

"I'm not leaving you alone in a room with the body of a man who tried to assault you," Basil told her, "I won't look, but I'm not leaving you be when we don't know if he could wake up. Go, dress, my eyes will be on him the whole time."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him a moment, but nodded, "Alright,"

And with that she turned her back to him, going after her street clothes. Basil kept his word, mostly. He didn't look at her, at least not directly. She had surprised him earlier that night, thinking so quickly as to protect both their covers, again when she had stood up to him, and even later when she had taken out the rat with only minimal help from him, then gotten clean up taken care of without being questioned. He hadn't been joking when he told her she would be an asset to his future investigations.

Well, that was one part of it. The other was due solely to that biological part of his brain devoted not to logic and keen observation skills, but the fact that the last time he had seen Olivia she had been a little mouse of just ten. And like all little mice she had had a little mouse's body. But now, well now… he was disgusted with himself as he saw the silhouette of her new curves while she stood in her chemise, searching for a piece of clothing.

Basil shook his head and returned his focus to the man on the floor. He wished he had something to render him unconscious once again on the off chance he awoke. But then the slam of glass against skull had been pretty strong, he'd heard it loud and clear even through the door of the closet.

"Finished!" Olivia called and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her in a dark blue gown and hat pulled low as to shadow and obscure her face.

"Right then," he said, offering her his arm as she tried to sidestep the body on the floor, "Now, the only question is how to get out of here. In light of what just happened I'm loathe to start another barfight."

"Another?" Olivia inquired, wondering what the story was behind that remark.

"Long story," he shook her off as they left the room.

She giggled behind her gloved paw, "There's a back door you know."

"Really now? Well that's useful," Basil said, "Where?"

"This way," Olivia guided him.

They ended up topside on the street and from there she proceeded to guide him to her apartment. She let them in with her key and struggled to find the switch for her lamps. When electricity had come to London a whole new series of jobs had been created, for both man and mousekind. And London, being the capital had been wired and rewired until man and mouse alike had electric lights in their homes. Olivia, being used to lighting candles and lamps, was struggling to adjust, though she imagined it was worse for Basil: that was, if he had even _allowed_ someone enough time and access to rewire his entire domicile.

Probably he hadn't as he seemed astounded when all the lights in the room turned on at once. Olivia moved about the sparse yet cozy room.

"I say," he examined one bulb, "What are these?"

"You would know if your head wasn't always buried in a case," Olivia teased, "These are lightbulbs, powered by electricity. Last quite a long time, or so I'm told. I prefer natural light for the most part. Now, I know I put all those jewelry pieces somewhere," she mumbled to herself as she tried to recall what she had done with the clues she had promised Basil, "Aha!" she cried triumphantly as she retrieved a box, "Here it is!"

"What?" Basil asked, still distracted by the lights.

"The box of bracelets and other trinkets," Olivia reminded him as she placed the box in his arms, "Now, if I'm going to be staying with you for a while I'll need to pack a few things…" she headed in the direction of her boudoir and it seemed to snap Basil out of his trance.

"No, absolutely not," he told her, "It's not illogical to assume the one behind all this knows where you live and what you wear. You can't take anything with you. We have what we came for and now we're going to leave."

"You expect me to traipse about your house naked?" Olivia raised a brow at him.

He choked up at that, "Well I, what I mean is… no! Most definitely not, that would certainly deter future clients, not to mention what it would do to _both_ our reputations."

"Then I need to pack some clothes to wear," Olivia told him, pulling for her room.

"I'll buy you a whole new wardrobe," he promised her, "But we need to leave before someone catches us here."

"It's my house," Olivia said pointedly, "And if you won't let me pack my clothes, at least let me get a few precious things. I can't go anywhere without them."

Basil frowned at her, "Oh… alright. But be quick about it!"

"Of course," Olivia replied as she hurried. One carpet bag full of treasures from her past later they were out and moving toward Baker Street with only the light of the moon following them.

GMD

"Oh my!" Mrs. Judson had exclaimed upon the pair bursting in on her, "What on earth is going on here?"

"Long story Mrs. Judson," Basil brushed her off, bringing the notes and the box of trinkets over to his table for examination, "Oh yes, I almost forgot," he said as an afterthought, "We'll be having a guest stay with us for an indefinite amount of time. Make up a room for her will you?"

Mrs. Judson shook her head at her employer's typical brusque manner. Then she looked at the newest resident of Baker Street. The girl seemed familiar to her.

"Do I know you dearie?" she asked as the young woman took off her hat and shook out her auburn curls.

Before the girl could answer Basil beat her to it, "Of course you do. she's the girl at the center of Ratigan's final scheme. Miss Flangerhanger,"

"Flaversham," Olivia corrected, then with a sigh and a shake of her head said, "Whatever,"

"Oh! Oh young Olivia is that really you?" Mrs. Judson could hardly believe it, the girl certainly had grown since she'd seen her last. And she was staying with them? What an interesting development, "Oh but look at me, forgetting myself. I'll be right back with a room all ready for you dearie, and then perhaps a spot of tea with a nice cheese crumpet?"

"Sounds lovely, thank you," Olivia replied as the housekeeper bustled about.

She looked around, not much had changed in the last thirteen years. A few new framed news clippings and relics of cases past perhaps, but it remained largely unchanged. Noticing an abandoned game of chess twixt the chairs before the fireplace she studied the board. Seeing a move she moved the piece, trapping the white king with his own pieces. Gleefully she whispered, "Checkmate."

"I've got it!" Basil shouted as he raced about, "I've got a lead!"

"What?" Olivia asked as she settled into the red chair before the fireplace.

"The composition of the metals in each jewelry piece is remarkably similar. Too similar to be coincidence. No, the metals were imported and then crafted by the same person, as shown by the structure of the links. Hand crafted, one of a kind. All we need to do now is track down the artisan."

"And the paper?"

"Same kind, though one of a lower quality," Basil shook his head as he noticed the game he and Dawson had been playing before being interrupted by the case at hand. Dawson, as his usual black, had been just about to concede defeat, and yet he found his own king cornered and without escape. Checkmate, "Unfortunately," he continued, trying to figure how Olivia had seen the one move that Dawson could have used to claim victory, and so quickly, "This type can be found in any parchment shop across London. A bit of a dead end, but with the jewelry we don't need it."

"I see," Olivia said. She looked around, "Did you ever get a new violin?" she pondered.

Basil twitched, it had been his favorite instrument until she had been a part of its demise, "Not as of yet. Too busy helping Scotland Yard do their jobs it seems."

"Oh," Olivia's tone was disappointed, and perhaps a bit guilty, "I'm sorry," she apologized, "You know I never meant to make you break it."

"I," Basil looked at her, "I know," he said, patting her on the shoulder, "You were just a child then."

"Not anymore," she joked.

"No," he agreed quietly, gazing at her even as she watched the fire that seemed perpetually alight thanks to Mrs. Judson's tending, "Not anymore."

She looked at him then, firelight reflecting in the depths of her eyes. A blink, two, three. Basil cleared his throat and removed his hand, "Well, Mrs. Judson should be done with a room for you. Why don't you head on up and try to get some rest?"

"And what about you?" Olivia asked.

"I'll be fine, I've worked on less before," Basil assured her.

She made her way up the stairs, but stopped before the sitting room was entirely out of sight. Ducking her head she said to him, "Goodnight Basil,"

"Goodnight, Olivia," he replied. And then she was gone.

GMD

Sleeping in one's undergarments was not comfortable in the slightest. That was what Olivia decided as she lay tossing and turning in her borrowed bed that night. She felt too exposed, too cold, and in the off –though not entirely impossible- chance of a fire she had nothing to cover her as she ran for cover. Surely, there had to be something she could use as a nightdress. She got out of bed and peered about in the dim light of the rooms. In order to let some air in Mrs. Judson had opened a window which sent the curtains stirring whenever a breeze passed by. It also allowed moonlight to seep in, casting a hazy, dreamlike blue glow about the room: throwing things into sharp relief of light and shadow.

Olivia remembered scarcely seeing a trunk in here that Mrs. Judson hadn't moved out. With any luck there was something in there she could use as a replacement for her nightgown. She crept to the chest, hoping it wasn't locked. What luck! It wasn't locked, and there were clothes inside. Old clothes, worn, probably from Basil's younger years. The thought made her giggle, had Basil _ever_ been young? He'd always seemed like an adult, and he'd been on the younger side when she'd first met him. But there'd been stories about him long before that: of the great young detective who'd cracked cases that had baffled Scotland Yard. Perhaps the only young he'd ever been was physically.

Oh, this was interesting, Olivia thought as she drew out a swath of white cloth. Soft from time, wear, and washing. A shirt, likely Basil's since everything in this house was his. She held it against herself, a little short, but her costume had been shorter. This at least, fell closer to her knees. She would take what she could get. Olivia instantly felt better as she felt the material whispered over her buttoned together liberty bodice and drawers. Not the greatest night cloth she'd ever used, but there were far worse alternatives. Feeling much better she yawned and went back to bed, falling asleep almost instantly as she slipped between the covers.

In the morning Olivia found herself starting awake. The reason? Besides Basil's usual antics which never seemed to cease unless he was severely restrained or knocked unconscious, the truth of the matter was that Olivia had lived on her own long enough that the sounds of a waking house sounded too loud. It wasn't unpleasant, but she hadn't been expecting it. And now she was up. Olivia let out a sigh. Might as well find something to wear.

She returned to the trunk, and much to her delight found a pair of plain brown slacks that she could pair with the shirt she was already wearing. And a red waistcoat. A little masculine perhaps, but Basil had promised to buy her a whole new wardrobe, and knowing him until he solved the case she'd have to make do. Olivia retrieved her stockings from the folded pile of her clothes and put them on, followed by the slacks and waistcoat over her. a little loose, but not in an ill-fitting manner, she'd be fine. From her carpetbag she grabbed the red bow she'd been wearing the night she'd met Basil and tied it up in her hair. Shoes on and more or less ready to face the day she headed downstairs.

GMD

A night's worth of deductions and experiments and he had finally done it. The pieces Olivia had been given, based on the composition of the gold, were from the shavings found in a human jewelry artisan's shop near Hyde park. He knew that they had to have someone there, or were like Fidget and were breaking in after hours. But, in all likelihood, that was close to where their base of operations was, considering the amount of wealth that could be used to fund their criminal activities. He and Dawson would need to investigate further, once the mouse showed up. Of course, he suppressed a grimace, Dawson was now married, and was loathe to go anywhere without his new wife. Basil didn't blame his friend, certain that the horrors in Afghanistan were enough to make any man think about his future and what that entailed. Dawson had wanted a wife, and as luck would have it he'd found one. Good on him, but that left very little time to help his partner solve mysteries.

Basil's ears twitched as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Olivia must have finally woken up. Mrs. Judson was always up with the dawn, and he himself hadn't gone to sleep: too wired on the lead to let it alone.

His back was to the staircase, focused as he was on the reactions of various samples, but when he heard Olivia hit the landing he turned to greet her, eyes closed and a cordial smile on his face,

"Good morning Miss, Miss," he forgot how to speak as he saw what she was wearing.

 _What_ was she wearing? Well, he knew what she was wearing, but he couldn't believe she was actually _wearing_ it. Trousers, and waistcoats! Good heavens he could see her ankles! He composed himself with the thought that he'd seen a lot more last night, at least now everything was covered in some fashion.

"Miss Flakercrum, what are you wearing?" he couldn't stop himself, not when he had to investigate. It was just as well Mrs. Judson hadn't seen her yet, the old mouse would probably have a heart attack. He was close to cardiac arrest himself.

"It's Flaversham," Olivia corrected him once more, "And I'm wearing the only clothes I could find. Remember? _Someone_ wouldn't let me pack more than my treasures; and I'm not about to wear the same dress if we go out and about."

"But," Basil tried to protest, "But-"

"No buts," Olivia cut him off, "As I recall, that same someone _also_ promised me a whole new wardrobe in return for leaving as quickly as possible. So really, this is all on you Basil."

He couldn't argue with that. He _had_ promised her that if they could leave without her packing everything she owned he would buy her clothes to wear. But he couldn't have her walking about like that.

"Mrs. Judson," he called, "Come in here!"

The matron bustled in, "Yes Mr. Basil?" she asked.

"Please find Miss Fl-" he cut himself off when Olivia glared at him, "Miss Olivia one of your old dresses. And move that trunk of my old clothing out of her room."

Mrs. Judson looked over at Olivia and gasped, "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "Come now dearie, let's get you out of those old rags. I have something that will fit you much better," she took Olivia by the arm and led her away.

Basil breathed a sigh of relief, Olivia was brazen enough as it was: she didn't need men's clothing to help her out. His nose twitched, breakfast had been laid out. His stomach growled, a night without sleep would do that to you, and like it or not he was getting too old for all night investigations. He should at least eat something to make up for it.

"There now," Mrs. Judson said, taking the pins out of her mouth and setting them to the side, "Now you can go out and about."

She had put Olivia in a simple blue dress from her youth, and tailored it to fit better. The most it had needed was drawing in the waist, easy enough for someone always mending something Basil managed to tear. The stockings and shoes were appropriate enough on their own, so she didn't need to change those.

"Thank you Mrs. Judson," Olivia said, "Is breakfast ready?"

"Of course, it's all laid out on the table. Assuming Mr. Basil hasn't eaten it all already," Mrs. Judson replied.

"All of it?" Olivia questioned.

"He gets mighty hungry when he's up all night," Mrs. Judson replied, "I'd hurry if I were you, you might be able to get something from the table."

"Right," Olivia said.

Mrs. Judson had been right, by the time Olivia got to the dining room, a good portion of everything that had been set out was gone. Basil sat at the head of the table, taking seconds or possibly thirds. She sat down on his right and began putting some sustenance on her plate.

"Long night?" she asked, tone conversational.

"Long, but fruitful," Basil replied through a mouthful of food which he quickly washed down with a cup of tea, "I identified where the jewelry came from. A small artisan shop near Hyde Park. We'll have to investigate.

"How exciting," Olivia said, "Hyde Park is beautiful this time of year."

"Not you," Basil informed her, "Dawson and I."

"Wouldn't it be more realistic if you were in Hyde Park with a woman?" Olivia asked, "It's a popular spot for couples."

"As well as friends taking a stroll," Basil parried.

"At what hour?" Olivia countered, "Thugs are prone to meet during times where it's public enough to not be considered sus, but deserted enough where there's less chance of being overheard. Those hours are also peak times for couples. Not to mention, if you and Dawson go you'll stick out rather obviously."

"How so?"

"The only pair of men at a time when couples abound?" Olivia snorted, "Not to mention the two of you are famous all over Mousedom, especially in London. A tall skinny mouse with a short, plump one will be noticed almost immediately. I'd be better to take along."

"I-" Basil raised a finger to object, but, much to his increasing annoyance, Olivia was right again. He and Dawson were a known duo. Even in disguise their statures would stand out as far too similar to who they really were for comfort.

"Dash it all you're right!" he said.

"I know," Olivia replied as she spread some jam on a scrap of toast, "I've certainly lived here long enough to figure some things out.

"And Chess as well?"

"My father's a toymaker," Olivia reminded him, "I know how to play all sorts of games."

Basil nearly spat out his tea, that should _not_ have come out sounding as suggestive as it did. Or maybe he needed to get a grip on himself and leave the gutter well alone.

"Very well then," he cleared his throat, "This afternoon you and I shall go for a walk in Hyde Park. Dawson can act as your chaperone."

"Just make sure you're disguised well enough," Olivia jabbed teasingly.

"Always, but why the concern,"

"After the last time I saw you disguised?" she parried with a raised brow. Basil narrowed his eyes at her, not wanting to be reminded of the one time someone had gotten the jump on him; well, besides Olivia last night, "Anyways," she continued, bringing his attention back to her, "It's better because we don't want the gossips to know about a rendezvous between some Scottish nobody and the most eligible bachelor in all Mousedom."

"Most eligible bachelor?" he sniffed, "Me? Preposterous!"

"Clearly you don't read the gossip columns of the paper," Olivia quipped.

"Most certainly not," he affirmed, "What intelligence can one possibly gather from it?"

"More than you think," Olivia replied, "But that's what the papers call you. And if I'm a maid, which is what I look like dressed like this, then I don't need a chaperone. Dr. Dawson can gather clues on his own, or at the very least watch our backs."

"Indeed," Basil agreed, "You've grown into quite the little sleuth Miss Olivia,"

Her eyes gleamed with mirth and she chuckled, "Actually, it's elementary my dear Basil," she cooed, echoing the words he'd said to Dawson the night they'd all met. Then, something occurred to her, "Wait, how're we going to _get_ to Hyde Park?"

"Not to worry," Basil assured her, "Where there's a will there's a way."

GMD

"When you said there was a way if there was a will, I didn't think you meant an _actual_ Will," Olivia said as she eyed the rather large (to her) dog.

"Well, dogs do have a relatively short lifespan," Basil explained as he helped her board the dog, "Toby was getting too old so I trained Will here. He's been an excellent study, as good as Toby was."

"Is Toby…" Olivia trailed off, unwilling to say the word.

"Unfortunately yes," Basil answered, "Good dog, but he had to go on his way much like we all do eventually."

"It's simply the way of things," Dawson added from his position already atop Will, "Of course, once we figured out that what Toby disliked was the catgut thread I had used to stitch my torn sleeve, we got on splendidly. We all miss him my dear,"

Dawson and Olivia had had a heartfelt reunion upon the former's arrival to Baker Street just half an hour earlier and after Basil had let the doctor in on the plan.

"We'll stop off a short distance away from the park," Basil instructed, "Then Olivia and I will pose as a couple enjoying the sights. You, Dawson, will keep an eye on things from the perimeter and try to gather any information you can without getting caught. At precisely five o'clock we shall meet back at Will. If Olivia, myself, or the both of us do not show up at that time, circle the park three times and then sound the alarm."

"Understood," Dawson saluted out of habit, used to receiving orders.

"Right then, off we go!" Basil nudged Will and then they were off, bounding though the back alleys of London streets so that Will wouldn't get caught. A few paces away from the mouse's entry into the park they stopped.

Basil helped Olivia off, unused to traveling by dog in such a long skirt. They split up, Basil disguised as a butler on his day off, and played a perfect complement to Olivia's maid, just before Dawson arrived they asked Mrs. Judson for a spare cap. Olivia's hair was a rare color and as such easily recognizable. Arm in arm they entered the park. Of course, the mouse equivalent was far larger just by the magnitude of space comparative to a mouse's stature. The flora and fauna of the park made for great attractions, among other things.

The pair wandered about, pretending to gape at the natural splendor of the gardens like all the other simpering couples that filled the grounds. Whispering in Basil's ear, miming a besotted fool whispering sweet nothings to her lover she told him, "Look!"

He followed her line of sight and saw a man walking by himself. One that was _not_ Dawson and looked entirely too shady to be about at this time.

"Good work," he whispered back, indicating with his head that they should trail.

Olivia let out a simpering giggle from behind her gloved paw and nodded like an idiot. He knew she was a performer but an actress as well? The girl was perhaps _too_ good at what she did.

Amicably chattering on about nothing they followed the man from a short distance, always keeping him in their line of sight. He ducked into a thicket of bushes, the sort that were structured on the outside by humans, and on the inside by the mouse groundkeepers into a hedge maze for their clientele. Hot on his trail basil and Olivia chased after as fast as they could without seeming urgent.

Left, right, left, left, right, right, left, right, stop! Basil held Olivia back from making another turn after that. He had tracked Ratigan through these very leafy corridors once before, and knew the schematics of how they had been groomed. The next turn led to a dead end, many sought the center and this dead end was well out of the way: needing a map all one's own to find on most occasions. Perfect to discuss criminal endeavors. The two investigators held their breath as the heard the man speak with someone who had obviously been lying in wait.

"Well?" one voice asked, "What's the news?"

"Found out that ol' Mick got 'imself outsmarted by that little spitfire down at the Rat Trap last night. Switched the drinks then smashed 'im in the face wit'he red."

The first voice let out a low whistle, "That Stella's a piece of work."

"Kinda why the boss wanted her, among the other benefits. Jus' imagine it! If Mick 'ad gotten'old of her: we couldda had a ripe set up we couldda."

"A hub further from the place where cops come at the drop of a hat as well as a place to push. The market couldda been flooded. Not to mention watching that little spark dance, among other things she can do."

Crude laughter filled the air and Olivia felt her temper rising. Quickly noticing Basil quietly slipped a hand over her mouth to keep her from blowing their cover.

"We can still do that," the second voice continued, "All's we gotta do is catch her, though, I imagine after the boss is done with her Mick's got first crack. She owes 'im that much I reckon."

"How we gonna do that?" the first voice asked, "She only performs once a week now and since that's happened she'll be more on her guard. How'd she even figure out Mick drugged her glass in the first place?"

"You know those types, always playin' dumb," the second replied, "But you're right. Without the girl we can't as easily threaten them pub owners. Without her as leverage what've we got?"

"The deal would still work," the first asked, "But rather than all the control we'd 'ave to settle for a partnership with 'em."

"You know what they say, "No honor 'mong thieves"." The two laughed again. Basil, being able to read conversations, realized they were coming to a close, which meant they needed to get further away so as to avoid suspicion. They had enough as it was.

But as the rounded the first corner back, Olivia stepped on a twig. It alerted the mice and Basil heard one of them say, "What was that?"

They picked up the pace, trying to get closer to the main path. Behind them footsteps came, echoing closer and closer. They couldn't outrun them, not in Olivia's outfit. So they'd have to outwit them.

On a similar wavelength Olivia pulled on Basil, "In here!" she hissed, dragging him into a shorter dead end and pulling him close to her. Quick as she could she moved his hands, one to cup her neck and the other cup her lower back, dangerously close to her rear. Her own hands snaked around him: one tugging loose his cravat, the other tangling in his fur. Their faces scant centimeters from the other's

"Olivia what are you," Basil began to ask, but she heard the footsteps draw too close and so she silenced him; locking her lips with his.

Their teeth clacked together, but ever the performer Olivia ignored it. Pushing closer, moving about as though dancing. The footsteps stopped, right in front of where they had ducked into. The men were watching. Time for a _real_ show. The loosened cravat was thrown to the ground as her hands roamed about him in a very suggestive manner. And now for the pièce de résistance. She let out a sigh, a breathy little feminine sound. Olivia was no fool, she knew what these secluded spots could and often _were_ used for. Everyone knew, and now it would be their saving grace.

The men chuckled, "How many randy couples have we stumbled upon here?" one asked.

"Too many to count," the other replied, "Seems some folk just can't help themselves."

"Check their clothing," the first said, "They're servants, like t'live in the house. Not a lot of time for privacy there is't?"

The other tsked as though shaking his head, "Sad when you can find more privacy outdoors than in your own house. C'mon, the boss'll be expectin' us. Bes' move along."

Olivia opened one of the eyes she'd closed as she pretended she was truly in the moment. When she was sure they were far enough away she untangled herself from her former hero. Basil stood there, stunned out of his wits. It wasn't that he didn't have that sort of experience, it was more that he didn't really care for it. But Olivia, she, what did she, _where_ did she, _how_ did she?

"You've done that before," he said as he turned to look at her. it wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. There was no way she could know all that if she hadn't… he didn't even want to _think_ about it.

Olivia for her part stifled her amusement. It wasn't the first time she had done it recently, but there was likely never to be anything more satisfying then the feeling that came with the knowledge that she had shocked Basil of Baker Street speechless.

With a saucy grin she glanced back at him over her shoulder as she made her way back to the main portion of the park, "You're the Great Basil of Baker Street," she reminded him with a swing of her hips, "You figure it out."

GMD

"So what exactly is going on?" Dawson asked when they had regrouped back at Basil's home. Basil had since doffed his disguise and Olivia had returned the cap to Mrs. Judson.

"Quite simple really," Basil explained, "I'm surprised I didn't see the connection before. We know that the Mole King and his gang are in possession of a very potent drug. That's old hat by now. And we knew that they frequented the Rat Trap once a week, always the same day. Turns out they were doing so to see a performer known as Stella, what we were unaware of was that Stella was actually Olivia going under an alias to protect herself. The reason they specifically wanted her? They were to take her hostage and as a ransom the proprietors were to cede control of their pub to the Mole King's group. That way they would have a front for which to push their drugs onto the public from a position where crime runs rampant and is harder to trace, especially since they send notes on material which is bought from a shop and properly stored so as to evade tracking."

"Really?" Dawson exclaimed, "Plans for all that?"

"Among other things," Basil added darkly, "Olivia, Stella rather, was to become a hot commodity for the members of the gang. Thankfully, she's here with us now and they seem to be unaware of her real identity. So long as we keep it that way everything will work out swimmingly."

"I never thanked you," Olivia said from her position in Basil's red armchair, "Without you I never would have known that drink was drugged and they would have succeeded."

"I think you repaid the favor back in the park," Basil replied.

"In the park?" Dawson asked, curiosity piqued, "What happened in the park?"

Olivia felt herself heat under her fur and was hoping the blush wasn't visible. Basil took one look at her impression of a fish and stepped in.

"Some quick thinking on her part kept us from being discovered whilst gathering intelligence," He said, it was complimentary without being incriminating, and it satisfied Dawson's careful gaze.

"Oh, very good then," he replied.

"Yes," Basil hummed, "Well, we have no time to lose then! The game is afoot and I'm determined to be the winner!" he jumped out of his seat and returned to the chemistry set.

Olivia and Dawson shared a look and a smile, laughing at the detective's antics. Now that Ratigan was out of the way there were very few who could challenge Basil's intellect. Neither of them had any doubts the Great Mouse Detective would get his man, and fairly soon too.

* * *

And that is the end of that. Favorites are lovely, Reviews are even better. Until next time my lovelies, Fairfarren!


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